every person on this earth
has got a certain fear
spiders incite panic,
public speaking invokes tears

mine isn't too uncommon,
but only some women can relate
it's a special kind of fear
to a special kind of hate

it wasn't whispered in my ear
it's just something that i know
it's been ingrained since my beginning,
a part of how society flows

you see, i'm afraid of a guy.
or rather, his rejection
afraid i'm not enough
because i'm darker in complexion

did you know his hands are white?

that's why around him, my skin burns
instead of reciting numbers and letters,
what if it's racism that he learned?

i was taught to admire passions, looks, and intellectual minds
if only to darker women,
love could prove to be more kind

im 18 in year '18 but it feels like '63
hiding feelings from a whitey cause ****** is defined as me

dear future partner,
i am sorry to inform you that you can’t run your fingers through my hair
it isn’t silky or smooth like a tall white girl in a brightly colored Garnier commercial

but try running through the fields of mind,
approach gently at each thought that greets you
touch sweetly, for every dream you unfold is delicate, easily molded by those who refuse to slow down for me
glide carefully as you discover unwanted spots in my brain, left by other travelers who I mistakenly allowed to begin a journey within me

you can’t run your fingers through my hair,
but you can traverse freely through my memories as they roll off of my tongue and onto yours
feel the wind rush past my ears as my lips take you back through time and space until your own mind begins to latch onto memories of mine.
a child on a swing. kicking back her legs and greeting the sky with a smile, unknowing and unfearing of all obstacles ahead of her.

you can’t run your fingers through my hair without pulling back a weird mixture of coconut oil, leave in conditioner, and whatever product is still there before wash day

but run your hands carefully on my skin
listen to the sounds of my scars as they whisper stories unable to escape my throat
appreciate the too soft or too rough, too loose or too tough parts of my body as they welcome you to me

and when it seems as if there’s no running left, come close.
lay your head on my chest; feel me rise and fall
as I try to my fingers through you.

are we really woke as much as we all claim to be?
or are we woke to ease our minds, which ain't reality?

of course we've signaled heavy change, i won't deny that's true
but let me have your ear for now, give you another view

are you really woke because you post a rant on twitter,
but bop to Chris Brown's music even tho we know he hit her?

are you really woke cause you were born into the slums,
but if you make it out,
you forget where you are from?

are you really woke because you claim to love black hair?
but only like the softer textures, is that really fair?

are you really woke 'cause you admire that 4c?
but put down girls who have relaxers, wigs, or wear a weave?

are you really woke because you claim to love all people,
but if ya boy is gay you will denounce him at the steeple?

are you really woke because you say you know what's right,
but ostracize your fellow blacks,
simply cause "they talk white?"

are you really woke because you claim to love all colors,
but date a darker women? yikes! you'd rather find another

are you really woke because you claim you've got insight,
but if i am depressed, you say that mess is for the whites?

i bring up all these issues not because i hate my own

i bring up all these issues just because they're never shown

and if we are to grow and prosper,
thrive and shed our past,
we need to have these conversations,

                                                 ­                                make sure that they last

i am constantly chasing love
or rather, the question of love

love is a question because it's never been something tangible to me
i've never held it in my hands
i was first approached with the question after an innocent 6 year old asked her father why mom didn't live with him anymore

"we just don't love each other like we did then" he'd say.
even then, she knew "love" had to be something important.

maybe i was pre destined to chase love, since i matured without loving myself
exposed to the harsh environment that is society, i wore no scarf or coat to fight the elements of self hatred

with every milestone, every minute mark, my heart grew bigger in anticipation
would love answer like the colorful pixels of a television set, dancing on my retinas?
or will it engage in a quiet, sneaky approach, like a tiger stalking its prey?

at first, hearing its reply sounded so satisfying
but the more i try to expedite love's response, the quieter it seems to become
i have many years to live, but no longer do i want to engage in this one sided conversation.
a question,
love will remain

sometimes when we talk it's like my mind begins to race
your words begin to circle me
in a poetic embrace

i feel your passions seep under my skin and in my veins
feel your memories begin to root within my brain

then i respond, and i begin to tell all of my thoughts
told you things about myself,
i know i talked a lot

it's just that when we speak
i cannot help but share my pains
our stories are weaved with different themes
yet the handwriting's the same

sometimes when we talk,
it's like we start a mystical ride
you take my hand within your prose
and up, we start to fly

cliche? mmm, perhaps
but on the way, you show me stars
and every single one has got a touch of who you are

within my every reply,
it's like our words begin to dance
they fit so well together,
like a lyrical romance

looking into your eyes while you speak is what I'll miss
they're filled with scattered dreams
upon a few, i'd make a wish

make a wish you'd feel those fluttery things i feel inside
make a wish that when we talked,
you'd share this natural high

make a wish that i could venture deeper in your mind
and on my exploration, thoughts of me is what I'd find

i know it's safe to say i like you more than you like me
cause i don't think that when we speak, you feel this sort of glee

admittedly, it hurts, because i'll miss your cute remarks,
your odd expressions, your funny poems, your comments from the heart

but maybe down the road, a familiar figure is who i'll see
perhaps that guy will wave hello to sit and talk with me

i want to know somebody

know every detail of their life events
i want to blow the candles on their first birthday
lick the stamp on the first letter they sent

i want to share and be shared intimately

from my brown skin into my core
i want to wrap around his member and see his eyes ask mine for more

i want to nearly bleed to death

over how much I’m able to give
over how much I might withstand if it meant my love would live

because i think people are meant to be shared with one another, tied in an infinitesimal amount of ways; tumbling as one.

how many layers of heart wallpaper can i use to keep me safe?
how many layers of heart wallpaper should I tear before a date?
how many layers of heart wallpaper do I buy after being rejected?
how many layers of heart wallpaper can shield me from feeling dejected?
how many layers of heart wallpaper can help my mind forget?
how many layers of heart wallpaper can muddy “I’m sorry” texts?
how many layers of heart wallpaper should I wrap around myself?

I peel it off, I put more up, a bit falls off, I’ve had enough

there’s never enough layers of heart wallpaper when you’re already damaged inside.

poke
squeeze
pinch

of the parts of me i despise

imagine
fantasize
wish

of a different vessel than which i am trapped in

remembering
recounting
recalling

of a day where i was taught to accept parts of my body i cannot change

understanding
realizing
knowing

although such a day failed to come,
the sun brings me another to try again

12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone
        12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone


1:33 no one cares no one picks up the phone
      1:34 no one cares no one picks up the phone
            1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                   1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                          1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                                1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone

may your tears soak through my skin

                                                           ­            as your head lies on my chest
may your fears pour down my throat

                                                         ­           as your head lies on my *******


                           may i steal some of your nights?
                             as you steal some of my light?


                                                        ­        may your pain be shared with me
as your head begins to rest

i think it's safe to say that there are things we wish we’d known
facts on life or happiness, obtained before we’d grown

a lot of us can say relating to our moms and dads
that we weren’t taught to love ourselves or cope with being sad

and maybe those two things are linked to how we feel constrained
by social norms and expectations, taught to be the same

girls are told to cover up the things that make us weird
beat your face or trim your waist to look good in the mirror

course don't get it twisted,
we’re not to look good for ourselves

our looks are all to get a man,
gain love from someone else

to top it off, what do we do when things just go awry?
after all, teenage dating is really quite the lie
see, that vital lesson is one i guess will not be taught
leaving girls with broken hearts and feeling so distraught

and i can’t say i've managed to avoid this deadly trap
opening my heart despite feeling like utter crap

searching every nook and cranny on this giant earth
cause i've been taught a boys opinion is what proves my worth

in very late July,
i observed a firefly
pulsing their neon light
while in the dark, they did take flight

in very late July,
there isn’t many fireflies
they pulse their neon lights
find a mate, and say goodnight

in very late July,
i tried to catch that firefly
wished my hands would be their home
so they’d know they’re not alone

some species of plants close their petals at night
as the sun greets the sky and begins to warm the world,
each petal begins to slowly uncurl itself, as if to welcome the warmth of its radiant companion
it isn't exactly known why our self sufficient friends tuck themselves in for the night
one theory says they're trying to conserve energy
another says they want to protect their pollen from not so pollinating others
i wish i could learn to be like these flowers
able to open my soul for others come inside
able to shut the gate when too much of me is being used up
it's been quite awhile
my leaves are beginning to brown and i can't even stand up straight
the sun asks why i can't rest for a while?
close up shop until i'm strong enough to try again?
my answer:
i will remain open for minutes upon hours upon days
hoping he'll show up, hoping that he stays

little black girl

whenever I see a little black girl, I can't help but stare
and wonder

when is the day she'll begin to hate her hair, her personal garden, her roots?

when will her mother hold her soft cheeks in her tired hands as she weeps, for the kids at school told her to go back to Africa?

when is the day she'll purchase the creamy crack, destroying her roots but believing she shouldn't go back?

when is the day her mind will succumb to the beautiful golden locks of rapunzel or the heat kissed hair of our own idols?

when is the day she'll stare in the mirror and think: i hate my blackness?

i ask not if there will be those days, but when

too many of us black women can relate
we've been taught not to love, only to hate
our garden, our history, our personal roots
afros are bad, being a ****** is not cute

if given the opportunity, will we stand together and rise?
will we tell little black girls their hair is not their demise?

My worth is not measured on what grows from my head
Your worth isn't lost if a white boy leaves you on read
our worth is embedded in our ancestors' sacrifice
love your hair and embrace this life

tldr

poems contain pieces of my soul, captured by clicks of fingers on phones
the scratching noises within my pen
the giving ups and the starting agains

i wasn’t aware that when i shared some with you
i wanted a piece of you in return
not an applause or a compliment
perhaps an acknowledgement of what you learned

did you feel a melting sensation? did my pain seep into your soul? did you become more educated? did i help you become more whole?

quite literally, my poems are a book,
a journal, a diary possessing bits of my life
moments that cause you to emit a giggle
all the way to experiences i hate to give light

tldr, it kind of hurts
when you ask to go beneath my skin
from now on, I’m wearing a jacket
to keep the careless from within